Butter Side Up
by Crystal Zelda
Summary: Everyone knows about Lily and James Potter, but how much is known about his parents, Charlus and Dorea? How they met, how they fell in love was nothing close to normal. This is a tie in to my story 'A Flower's Fame', but can be read alone. ONESHOT, R


**A/N: Stop! PLEASE READ!**

**This one-shot is based off of my other story, a Flower's Fame, BUT IT CAN BE READ ALONE. **

**There are a couple of things in the beginning that do tie in with A Flower's Fame, but I think you guys can get the gist of it. Charlus and Dorea are in my fandom, James' parents. No one knows what the names of James' parents were, but some people believe it was Charlus and Dorea Potter. They were figured in the Black Tapestry as Charlus Potter and Dorea Black, and it was noted that they had had only one child: a son. While it is possible they could be distant relatives of James and not his parents, I like the names, and I think they might be his parents, so they will be in the fic :)**

**So, please enjoy, and to all of you who are waiting for a Flower's Fame's next chapter, I'm working on it!! Sorry for the delay!**

**Also, this piece is dedicated to The Marauders and Lily, whom inspired this one-shot. I wrote it for you, so I hope you like it. :)**

He'd always thought she was special.

At Hogwarts, he'd always been so… busy. Getting good grades, playing Quidditch (he wasn't nearly as good as his brother, but still), and generally coasting by, keeping occupied with his various clubs and obligations.

He'd always known he wanted to be an Auror, after all – there had never been any doubt in his mind. But he wasn't just going to be good – he was going to be _great_. Charlus had always sworn to himself that he would not be content with being a low level Auror, affable and harmless, filing paperwork all day before going home to a nagging wife and screaming kids. No, Charlus had other things in mind, bigger things.

But he'd always been unable to, well, shake her, for a lack of a better word. He remembered the first time he'd seen her: he'd been a quietly confident third year, ready to tackle the new year with his usual gusto. Already bored with the Sorting process, he'd noticed a tiny black haired girl.

Her hands were clenched, and she was pale and drawn, but her chin was firmly in the air, her eyes locked onto the Sorting Hat. He remembered admiring the fact that even though she was obviously nervous, she hadn't been cowed into drawing back into herself like the other timid first years, shuffling their feet and staring at the ground. He felt an inexorable pull, and for some inexplicable reason, he suddenly realized that he'd wish she would be sorted into Gryffindor – with him.

When he'd heard her name called out – Black, Dorea – Charlus felt his heart sink with disappointment. Black – no doubt about it, she was going to be a Slytherin. What a waste.

He saw her march up to the Hat, posing the Hat on her head with delicacy and expediency. He held his breath: the seconds stretched into 20, then 30 seconds.

Finally, the Sorting Hat ripped his mouth open to boom out, "Gryffindor!"

He clapped the loudest at the announcement. A surge of relief and satisfaction flooded him as he saw her walk down towards the table, smiling shyly.

How strange.

Over the years, his contact with her had been minimal. He didn't want to get too close – whenever she got near, his normally unflappable demeanor would be ruffled. He couldn't find the right words, couldn't think normally. So he stayed away, all the while unable to completely write her off.

To his utter dismay, he discovered in his fifth year that every girl that he was attracted to or went out with reminded him of… her. His first girlfriend had her glorious ebony hair – another had her beautiful blue eyes. It was disconcerting to know that he was subconsciously looking for her in other girls.

He'd watch and listen to her with her friends when she wasn't looking, feeling more than a little discomfited at the realization that he was basically stalking a classmate. He learned her expressions, her laughs, her frowns. She was fascinating. He was confused. He'd wake up in his sixth year with his brow damp and his body overly warm, mortified when he remembered the subject of his dreams, always centered on her. Dorea. He'd get up to take a shower, feeling pathetic.

His first serious girlfriend had been the Head Girl he'd shared duties with in his seventh year, a pretty Ravenclaw with light hair and lovely eyes. She'd really been a nice girl, a little demanding, but nothing very horrid. He'd really thought he might have a chance with her – after all, she didn't look like Dorea at all, with her blond curls and tan skin.

However, he'd sunk into despair the first time he'd seen them together, around March that year, after a Prefect's Meeting.

They might look different, but they could have been family members. They had the same laugh, the same smile, the same posture. He'd realized that day that all she'd been, that pretty Ravenclaw Head Girl, was just a cheap imitation of… _her_.

It was sad, really. And worst of all, _she_ didn't even know.

After Graduation, he told himself it would fade once she'd be out of his life. He'd get into the Auror program, he'd be kept busy, he'd never see her again.

He should have known.

That day, two years later, Charlus was looking forward to another dull meeting at the Department of Transportation, to enforce "safety and security while travelling". His life was good. He'd gotten in the program, and was becoming known within the department – rumor had it a raise wouldn't be too long coming. His house was pleasant– a little empty, but otherwise lovely - with a large flowery garden in a charming scenery. Not very manly, but the kind of house a wife would love. And every man knew, as his own father had told him enough times, if the wife was happy, everyone was happy.

His life was going exactly according to plan – and much to his surprise, he found it wasn't _quite_ as satisfying as he thought it would be. Nothing specifically was wrong, per se, but still. He dated regularly, but hadn't found the one girl that made him want to… settle down. So he wandered on, still just as driven, yet aware that something was missing.

So he walked in the floor where the Department of Transportation held its offices, expecting just another routine meeting, just another routine day. Instead…

A corpulent man was jiggling about, screeching irately about being late and how the Department of Transportation was responsible, berating the poor clerk at the greeting desk. The girl…

He froze. Was it?

It was.

She'd changed, and yet, was still the same. She looked taller, willowy, still shy and unassuming, yet completely overwhelming to him. Her eyes were still as bright as he'd remembered; her hair still tousled delicately, her face still just as… lovely. All the feelings he'd ever had, albeit reluctantly, came rushing back until his head turned. She was still the only one who could drive him to distraction.

He didn't even remember what he said to her that morning. He only remembered his rage that someone dared raise their voice against her, of all people. After he'd sent the giant man scurrying back to his office to lick his wounds with a few choice words, he'd focuses all his attention on her.

He also remembered her shy smile as she accepted the flower he conjured for her from the tip of his wand as he reintroduced himself– such a simple trick, really, a spell he'd learned years ago, but the look on her face when he had pointed his flowered wand at her, the quiet glow she emanated when she reached forwards and tugged the bloom out… Oh, it had made him glad he'd taken the afternoon to learn that silly, simple, wonderful spell. He wondered if she had remembered him from her school days, even though he'd been two years ahead.

He also remembered telling her that she was better than being a clerk, and she was, and she knew she was, and yet, her pout had been adorable as she'd been put out with his criticism. She'd snapped at him that she'd only just graduated from Hogwarts, while it had been two years since he'd been out, but maybe it would push her to apply somewhere else. He'd hoped it would motivate her to try to move out of the Department of Magical Transportation (of all departments to work for!). He also remembered their relationship's first casualty: the turned over inkwell she'd knocked over with her elbow, may it rest in peace. She'd always been terribly clumsy, and that endearing gesture had reminded him of the many inkwells she'd knocked over during Prefect meetings.

A week and a half later, Berlin Bode, an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries, caught up with Charlus as he was walking to the mess hall for lunch.

"Potter," Bode greeted Charlus with a nod.

"Bode," he answered, stopping. Bode waived him on, and they resumed their walk to the cafeteria.

They'd known each other from a previous case, as Bode had graduated Hogwarts around 4 years before Charlus or so. He'd been a Hufflepuff, so their contact had been limited.

"How's your work going? You enjoying it?"

"Yeah. It's good. I'd ask the same, but I don't think I'd get much out of you."

Bode grinned, enjoying the secrecy that came with his job.

"It's actually quite nice, not having to make conversation about my work. Really makes my life easier."

"I'd say," answered Charlus with a chuckle. "Half the time I just say that it's an open case and I'm not allowed to comment."

"Clever," nodded Bode. "That's pretty good."

"Anything I can help you with, now that we've both acknowledged the fact that we hate work-related small talk?" They grinned at each other in that infuriating, masculine way that made every girl in the vicinity purse their lips. Men!

"Well, just wanted to ask you about that Transportation secretary you were quite chummy with last week."

Charlus threw the man an irritated glance. He'd never liked wearing his heart on his sleeve, and he wondered how Bode knew about their talk last week. "Yes?" he answered stonily.

Bode raised his eyebrows but didn't comment. "Just wanted to ask. She was pretty clever at Hogwarts, I remember, and I was curious why she'd end up clerking for Transport of all things."

Charlus just shook his head. "She's one of the smartest people I know," he answered honestly – hopefully it would help her get another position in the Ministry. Dorea Black was not made to be a secretarial clerk, of all things. "Ravenclaw material, but she's got the heart of a Gryffindor, no matter how shy she looks. She's better than that piss-poor position she's been assigned."

Bode only nodded silently.

"If you're thinking of transferring her to the Department of Mysteries, you should. Won't regret it. A diamond of the first water, that girl."

Bode merely bobbed his head once more, hands in his pockets. "So you vouch for her?"

"Definitely," answered Charlus with a nod.

Bode saluted Charlus ironically before waving at him and disappearing into an elevator. Charlus's thoughts were momentarily interrupted as an owl zoomed pass his head – he only managed to duck in time. Charlus shook his head. Owls indoor! It was like being back at school.

Charlus sighed, hoping against hope that Bode would heed his words and that Dorea would finally get what she deserved.

The next week, he learned that she did.

He'd smiled then, a bittersweet smile. There really would be little to no opportunities to see her now. Unspeakables kept their own counsel. But at least she was where she ought to be.

Thus a number of months went by, with him gliding through life, filing his paperwork, and looking for excuses to go down to the Department of Mysteries. He hadn't seen her, Dorea Black– not even once, which was all for the best. In the meantime, as an impulse buy, he adopted a fluffy black kitten that he christened Dori. Not that it meant anything, of course. It was just a name.

But then…then it had come.

He'd already been assigned to a case – a high profile one, too, involving two rival rogue magical families who had been systematically killing each other off for years now. He was close to getting an arrest, and yet… and yet…

He'd heard from the grapevine that they'd found a dangerously intelligent wizard who had been studying strange, mysterious things…things an Unspeakable might know about…

They were rare, these cases of partnership between Aurors and Unspeakables. But sometimes they did come along…

He'd immediately gone to see his superior.

"Sir," he started. "The McMermow case."

His supervisor looked up from his desk, eyebrow raised. Ralph Scrimgeour looked at the young Auror. "What about it, Potter?"

"I'd like to take liaison on it."

Scrimgeour sat back with a sigh. For generations, all of his family had been involved in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with him in the Auror Office for more years than he'd like to count.

He knew Potter. Potter was a brain, no doubt about it. He was good – very good. He'd go far. He was a bit stiff, though. A little bit rigid.

Who was he kidding? Potter needed to get laid.

And apparently, he was only interested in one girl, even though he'd never let on about it. A certain dark-haired Unspeakable. It was obvious Potter had gone to great lengths to conceal his attraction to the lovely witch, to not avail (Potter was good, but he was better.),

He'd be damned if was going to be known as the office cupid, but for Merlin's sake, the poor kid was dying. If he kept going like this, he was going to die of a heart attack in three weeks.

Scrimgeour grunted. "You've done almost all the work on the Lange-Criens case. If you pass it off now, some other Auror will get the arrest and the promotion that's probably going to come with it too."

Charlus paused. He hadn't thought about that. It was true that what he was working on would almost certainly warrant great attention and praise if solved, and passing it off now might not be the greatest of ideas, but…

Charlus merely shook his head. "There'll be other opportunities."

Scrimgeour smiled inwardly, but he merely flicked his wand, making a salmon colored piece of paper – the transfer request form – shoot out of a messy drawer towards the young Auror, who grabbed it and nodded to his superior before returning to his desk hurriedly. Scrimgeour shook his head. He was getting too old for crap like this, but if Potter didn't get some soon, he was going to kill someone, and the paperwork would be a bitch.

The next week, Dorea Black came down to the Auror Offices, where she would be working with him for the duration of their investigation.

She was beautiful.

Well, she was always beautiful, but she looked particularly… appealing today.

She looked like she had just rolled out of bed, thrown something on, and swiped some mascara on. The effect was… dare he think it, sexy.

Her gait was unhurried and languid, reaffirming the illusion of her just waking up from a particularly… busy night. He wondered how it would feel, to wake up next to her, watch her get out of bed, stretching those mile high stems of hers…

No. She was his partner on this case. He was not going to think like that.

Just as she approached his station, Charlus saw men looking at her. He wanted to curse them all, to cover her with his cloak, to take that dress off…

No! He was _not_ going down that road.

She got to his station, and he pretended to keep working. She cleared her throat delicately. He looked up at Dorea and dropped his quill.

Damn! He wasn't supposed to do that. But oh my Merlin she was even more amazing up close, with her magnificent b –

_No, Charlus, No!_ He told himself fiercely.

She sat and crossed her legs. He didn't look at them. It took all his self control not to.

She was foreign to him. Had she changed so much in the past few months where she'd gone from peon to power? She was cool, self-assured, observant – damn it all if she hadn't caught sight of the Case Transfer Form. At the sight of the form, and his transparent motivation to work with her, she'd smiled a tiny smirk, that feminine beam that reeked of female superiority, a maddening sight for any man. Women! Kitten had turned into a tiger, had she?

Well, maybe not. Before they'd barely gotten talking, Miss Dorea Black had squirmed, like she'd always used to at Hogwarts, marking their relationship's second victim, another overturned inkwell.

Instantly, she turned from a sex goddess to the Dorea he knew and adored. Flustered, pink, she charmed him all over again as she tried to wipe the ink off. He resisted the urge to smile. There she was, his Dorea.

He knew he couldn't let her get away.

For an excruciating nine weeks, two days and fourteen hours, Dorea and Charlus worked close. Very close. Every day, they'd follow the same routine: every morning, Charlus would go down to his cubicle and start setting up his notes. One hour later, Dorea would come down as well and join him. The cubicle was quite small, and it was a tight fit – incidentally, Charlus didn't seem to mind. They would sit next to each other, knees brushing, glancing at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking, pointedly ignoring one another. Or at least, trying to.

Charlus would pore over report after report, passing off to Dorea any intelligence that had been gleaned that would concern an Unspeakable. She would scan every word, decorating the margins with little purple scribbles. Once Charlus tried to read the hurried notes, only to discover that they were illegible.

"Indelible ink," she murmured. "I made it, so only I can read what I write in it."

Charlus frowned. "Isn't that considered dark magic?"

Dorea shrugged a delicate shoulder. "Some do, since you need a drop of your blood to make it. That's what makes it purple. But Unspeakables routinely brew some. It's safest."

Charlus nodded, wishing he knew what her handwriting really looked like.

Normally, Charlus was eager to finish a case and get started on another, to catch as many dark wizards as he could, to do the most good. But this time… this time, he wished the case would never end.

After a silent morning, they would go down to the cafeteria and have lunch together, talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes it was about the case; sometimes it was about Hogwarts, or even themselves. To his surprise, Charlus found himself talking about things he never thought he would: about how proud he was of Harry, his younger brother (known as Hars), but how scared he was for him. Hars, everyone knew, was not only _Quidditch_ crazy, he was just plain crazy as well. He had no sense of self-preservation, and Charlus admitted that sometimes, he wished a major team wouldn't sign Hars, in fear that something tragic would happen to the foolhardy boy. But he also admitted he knew that would never happen: his brother was just too good.

Dorea opened up as well: for all her being an Unspeakable, she was quite chatty. She talked about how she'd always wanted to be a spy of sort when she was a child, spending hours hidden in nooks and corners of her house, avoiding her family. She was an only child, and had had not a particularly bad childhood, only a lonely one. Her parents had been caring but cold: not vindictive or sadistic, just simply unable to truly love their child. Dorea confessed she'd always thought that they'd only had her because it was their duty, not because they actually wanted children.

Blacks, she'd explain, ran hot or cold. They were all operatic in their extremes (**A/N: This line is purely from **_**Sirius Black, Super Genius**_**, one of the best fics ever written ****ever****, by Mistful**), of course, but their tempers were notably different. You had the insane and the larger than life Blacks, those impossible to ignore or forget. (Little did either of them know that years later, their own son would share some of these characteristics, albeit diluted by the saner Potter blood; however, the insanity would not be altogether escaped, as aforementioned son would become best friends with a 100% pure, grade A, certifiably out-of-his-mind Black – Sirius Orion).

Then, there were the cold Blacks. The Blacks who were cool, calm and collected. Who never blinked and never sweat. Who never let anyone know what was really beyond their icy eyes. Dorea let Charlus know that she'd always thought that these cold Blacks were infinitely more dangerous and terrifying than the crazy Blacks – at least _they_, the crazy ones, had a method to their madness. Their unpredictability became, well, predictable. The cold Blacks… well, since you never knew what was on their minds, they were the truly unpredictable ones. They could snap at any given moment, without notice, and you would never see it coming.

"So," Charlus said casually. "What kind of Black are you?"

Dorea only smiled and ducked her head. "I guess you'll have to find out by yourself."

"I intend to."

That was as close they ever came during those short weeks to discussing any kind of romantic or sexual tension. They were both professionals, who knew better than letting their feelings get in the way of a case. But they wouldn't be partners forever…at least in the professional sense. The last thing they needed, though, were allegations of fraternization, which could jeopardize their case, their reputations, and their careers. So they kept a proper distance: they rarely saw each other outside of work hours, never went over to each other's apartments. It was all very proper. Well, except for that one day.

Dorea was running late. Her cat had been sick last night, and she'd stayed up late to care for it, resulting in her alarm going unacknowledged until Dorea remembered she actually had _work_, not classes she could skip.

So as Dorea hurried around her place, flustered and rushed, Charlus was already in the office, sorely missing his partner's unbeatable knowledge when it came to paperwork. They were about to serve a warrant soon, and thus needed to start filing the proper forms for authorization. Of course, Charlus couldn't find them. He scoured his office space, to no avail. With an annoyed grunt, her realized there was nothing to it. He'd have to go to the supply closet.

Dorea ran through the marble floor to get to her office, wearing sensible ballet flats instead of spiky heels. They had to serve a warrant today, and if the paperwork was late there would be hell to pay.

"Oh, hey!" Bexter Prewett met Charlus as he walked towards the closet. Charlus nodded to him. "How's it been?"

"Oh." Bexter shrugged. "I think Fortescue in Maintenance might be mad at me. It's been storming in my office for the last week."

"What'd you tell him?"

"Nothing! All I said was that his marshmallow pumpkin puff had a twinge too much butterscotch in it, is all."

"You know how he is about his ice cream."

"Bah! Then he should quit working for the Ministry, and open up a shop on Diagon Alley. Tell you what, next time I see him, that's what I'll tell him."

"You do that. Say, where are the warrant authorization forms?"

"Um, right there… Let's take a look…"

Against the wall in the Auror's department stood a tiny shed-like building, made of rough dark wood, approximately the size of a small closet. Inside the magically enhanced room (it was much larger on the interior, like many rooms in the Ministry) were rows upon rows of multicolored papers and files, neatly labeled so Aurors only had to jaunt in to pick up some paperwork. Of course, most Aurors hated paperwork, and thus the supply closet was not a particularly popular place in the Office. A number of charms had been placed on the small wooden construction to prevent frustrated and irate Aurors, fed up after hours upon hours of forms and reports, from setting fire to it and all its content.

The two men went through the door of the closet, still chattering.

Juniper Tonks chose that moment to pass right by the closet in which the two men were. Unfortunately for all of them, the Tonks were a notoriously clumsy lot (clumsy enough to rival Dorea's!), and poor Juniper was no exception. On top of that, the young Auror was carrying over two heavy boxes of files, and could hardly see were she was going. With a totter, she knocked into the closet door, effectively sealing the two men in. Oblivious, Juniper continued on, wholly concentrated on her load.

"There we go!" Said Bexter, unaware that the blue haired Juniper had inadvertently locked him in the room with his coworker. "Here it is. Best of luck in your investigation, eh?"

"Thanks," said Charlus. "I swear, I can never keep all these forms straight."

"Don't I know it – there's so many of them, I – hey!"

Charlus frowned at the portly wizard. "What's wrong?"

"The door. It's locked!"

"What do you mean, locked?"

Finally, Dorea arrived at the office she shared with Char – No, Auror Potter. There were the files, the paperwork, the inkwells, but no Auror Potter. No warrant forms either.

Dorea realized that he must gone to get a form from the cabinet – the poor man never did know where they were. She decided to go and see if she could be of any help, seeing as it would probably take him two and a half hours to find the form in question. So she did, gracefully gliding to the closet, attempting to gain back the composure she'd lost this morning when she'd been forced to run to work. Unfortunately for Dorea, all the composure would soon be lost one more.

"Not here, Potter!"

"What? No one will know. Now come here, Prewett, and give it to me."

Well, if there's one thing to know about Dorea Black, it's that she's an extremely intelligent witch, a witty, bright, and quick woman. Sometimes, though, a little _too_ quick. You see, Dorea has an unnerving tendency to jump to conclusions. Sometimes it's not much of a problem. And sometimes… it is.

"No, Potter! It won't fit!"

"Of course it will. You just have to push."

"Oh," Dorea blinked. "Oh, oh, oh my. I never – never –" Hands fluttering, she tried to make sense of the very… _suspicious_ noises she was hearing from the cabinet.

"Ow! That hurts!"

"Sorry. But just here! A little more…"

"Here we go… Ah!"

"Not enough. Again!"

"Why can't we use a wand?"

"It didn't go so well last time, remember? Thing got stuck."

Dorea also happened to have a very, very overactive imagination. Which, right now, happened to be working overtime. She could only stand there, dumbfounded, as – as – as Charlus did… _something_ with a fellow Auror.

"Ahh! Almost!"

"Oh Mer- oh!"

With a crash, the door swung open, making Dorea stumble back with a gasp. The two men spilled out, Charlus clutching some kind of crowbar, both of them red in the face but triumphant.

As Charlus straightened, he blinked at Dorea, who was just about as pink as a red kappa. "I – um, that is – I – I need to go."

And with that eloquent turn of phrase, she turned and fled back to the office.

Bexter chuckled as he grabbed the crowbar from Charlus' nerveless fingers. "Good thing someone left that bar in there we could use as leverage, or else we'd have been stuck, ever since Scrimgeour made all the office furniture impervious to magic… I know we're not supposed to play fast and loose with the cabinets, but really, no choice there."

Charlus frowned at the retreating Dorea. "Mm. Well. I'll leave you to it then." And with that, he took off after his partner.

"Hey!" called the Auror, waiving around a lilac colored form. "What about your warrant documentation?"

When Charlus caught up with Dorea, she was halfway through the department hall, hell bent on making it out of the near vicinity before he caught up to her. Unfortunately for her, Dorea was an Unspeakable, not an Auror: untrained in stealth tactics, he caught up with her in mere minutes.

Before she could protest or even let out a squeak, Charlus had grabbed her and hustled her into an empty closet.

When the door closed with a snap, Charlus took one look at Dorea's face, and sourly concluded that the Closet God, if there ever was such a deity, was leading him on a merry dance that day. Locked in two different closets with two different people in the space of five minutes? This wasn't Hogwarts, for Merlin's sake.

Dorea took a steadying breath and launched into the speech she'd scrambled to come up with in the five minutes since her 'revelation', trying to ignore the fact that she was in a dusty, cramped closet with the object of her affections – or at least, _past_ affections, if he really was…

"You know, Mr. Potter, I'm a very open minded person, and even though I never really saw that coming with – with you at least, I want you to know that I accept your, well, your lifestyle and that I wish all the happiness in the world with, um, whomever, that, um, was – er – well, you know…"

What? Lifestyle? Happiness? "What – what's going on?" he asked, confounded.

"I, er, well, you know, you could have told me! I don't mind, you know."

"Mind what?"

"Um. Well, your… inclinations."

"My _what_?"

Now Dorea was scrambling. Her mother had raised her to be polite, after all, and talking about such orientations with gentlemen was definitively not something she had been equipped to deal with. "I completely respect your choices, whatever they may be! Just… you know, next time, maybe you could, herm, indulge outside work hours? No sense getting into trouble…"

"I-I'm lost," scowled Charlus. "It's not like I wanted to get stuck in the closet, you know!"

Dorea nodded with a nervous smile. "Ah, is that what it's called these days? Stuck 'in the closet', is it?" the ebony haired witch punctuated her remark with air quotes.

Now, Charlus knew he had no idea what on Earth was going on. "_What_?"

Dorea gave up her plastic smile to wring her hands with a miserable frown, her Gryffindor courage pushing her to speak honestly.

"You know, you could have told me! Instead of leading me on like that…" She mumbled that last part, but Charlus was to busy trying to decipher what she was saying in the first place.

"Told you what, exactly?" he threw his hands up in the air, nearly knocking over a bucket that was sitting on top of boxes of Madame Myrna's Magic Marble Marginalizer (whatever _that_ was for). "I have no idea where in the world you are going. You've been strange ever since I got out of the cabinet with Prewett! What was I supposed to tell you now?"

"That you're – you're – oh, damn! You like men, don't you?!" Dorea buried her face in her hands with a moan. "How did I not see that?"

Charlus was, to say the least, completely thunderstruck. Having been inside the cabinet during his exchange with Prewett, he was thus unaware of the… suggestiveness some of the comments he'd uttered contained. Also, he lacked Dorea's limitless imagination when it came to coming up with crazed scenarios based off of the things she heard or saw. It certainly was helpful as an Unspeakable, but in her relationships with people… Well, it has been previously mentioned that madness runs in the family. Perhaps Dorea did not escape her genes entirely.

Back to Charlus, who, understandably, was a little put off by now, as some men might be when their sexuality is questioned (especially by the very women they are attracted to: that's got to hurt). "You think I'm – I'm queer?"

Dorea raised her face with a little frown. "Now, that's not a very nice word. Some people would take offense, you know."

Bewildered, Charlus mumbled an apology. "Oh. Right then. Sorry, wasn't thinking – " he scowled ferociously at her then. "Wait, what makes you think I'm _gay_?"

The witch frowned at him. "I heard you with that man in the cabinet. During work hours, too! In the morning!"

"Heard _what_?" Charlus stared at her for a second, before finally realizing what she meant. "You don't mean – " at her fiery blush, he groaned. "Oh, Merlin. You thought I was having _relations _with him?"

Dorea was, at that point, more than a little bit uncomfortable. "There's no need to say it out loud," she mumbled, bright pink.

For a second, Charlus thought he would explode. Instead, he sighed and rubbed his knuckles over his eyes. After spending a few weeks with Dorea, he had to admit that her reasoning wasn't all that surprising – for her. Sometimes her mind played real tricks on her, and it wouldn't do to get angry. She really didn't mean anything by it, after all.

"Dorea," he began, ignoring her start. They tried to avoid first names most times. Charlus put his hands over her shoulders. "I'm afraid you've got it all wrong." He then proceeded to explain his predicament, being trapped in a magic impervious cabinet with nothing but a fellow Auror and a crowbar (though, he wasn't sure, why a crowbar had been in there at all – perhaps some other poor git had gotten stuck in there as well, and had left it there for others to use? But then why would he have one it the first pla – fiercely, Charlus quelled his investigative spirit: now was not the time).

"So, you see, we were absolutely NOT doing… whatever you thought we were doing. I'm definitively NOT, erhm, _inclined_ in that direction. So." He took a step back. "I thought you'd have figured that out by now." His voice was quiet, low.

Dorea, crimson with embarrassment – again got carried away for nothing! – and with shame at the tone she'd heard his voice. "Oh. Um. Right. It's just," she started, fidgeting. "Well, I mean, that's what I thought, but you… We…" she shrugged awkwardly. "It's never been… clear, I suppose. We've never…"

Clear? Was clarity in order? Ever the gentleman, Charlus decided to clear up the situation for her.

At that moment, Charlus took a step forward, forcing Dorea into the wall. He kept coming closer, until his body was scant inches from hers and she could feel the warmth emanating from his body. He put his hand on the wall next to hers, effectively caging her in. He leaned forward until his cheek brushed hers, and his lips were right next to her ears. She could feel the heat emanating from his body underneath his robes, and took a steadying breath, willing her knees still.

Softly, tenderly, in a moment Dorea Black would never, ever forget, Charlus Potter dropped his head into the side of her neck to nuzzle the baby soft skin lovingly, in a touch that barely came in contact with her, and yet reverberated throughout her entire body. Turning bright pink once more, she turned her head into his hair, lightly rubbing her cheek across his inky locks. They stood there for a minute, barely touching, in a moment that was as sensual and personal as a kiss. Charlus brushed his lips against her neck, and Dorea sighed.

After another moment, slowly, slowly, Charlus pulled back, stepping away from her. It made no difference. Shoe could still feel his presence; still feel his hair against her cheek, his lips against her flesh.

"I hope," he said quietly. "That this answers your question about our standing."

"I think it does," she whispered.

"Is it clear now, to you?"

"Yes."

That was all the words they needed. With a professional nod, Charlus left the tiny room, presumably to collect the paperwork needed for their case. Dorea sank onto an empty crate of Warlock Wilpy's Wonderful Window Washer. Still blushing virulently, it was then that Dorea came to a conclusion.

Charlus Potter was possibly the dishiest man to have even been born. He was also, she concluded, a massive tease.

With another sigh, Dorea wondered how she was expected to keep working by Charlus Potter's side and not waylay him to tear his clothes off in a broom closet while he was on his way to work. Sourly, Dorea found herself envying the wizard who'd gotten stuck with Charlus in the cabinet. Maybe then he would've kissed her.

With a grunt, Dorea got up, trying to put all thoughts of ambushing Potter to violate him in a dark corner out of her mind. She still had work to do.

And so they went on for another nineteen days. Nineteen long, torturous, godforsaken days. Charlus had to resist grabbing Dorea by the neck and snogging her into tomorrow, while Dorea avoided all dark corners like the plague, lest she give in to temptation and carry out her fantasies, which had become increasingly… colorful as the days went by.

One sunny day, as Dorea idly imagined ripping Charlus's robes to shreds with her teeth before running her hands through his glorious hair (something she had been itching to do for _years_), she was interrupted by said Auror, whom was undoubtedly unaware of the imaginary fate that had befallen his dress robes.

"Ms. Black," he growled. "McMermow's been spotted at his second location. A team of Aurors and I will move out."

McMermow had somehow gotten wind of their planned raid two weeks ago, and had moved most of his plans and artifacts to a second undisclosed location; however, they'd found enough proof at his first bunk to put him behind bars for a long time. Finally, he'd be going down.

She stood up with alacrity. "I'm ready."

Charlus Potter was nothing if not an excellent Auror. He was professional – as was previously mentioned – he was a team player, a good leader, and overall a damned effective Auror. He never let his personal prejudices or concerns cloud his judgment or affect his decisions – he always tried to benefit his mission and goal. And yet – and yet…

He knew that she would be useful should she come along. He knew that she had a place and a right to be there when the operation went to task, but the thought of her, in that house, facing that madman was enough to make his blood run cold and his inside turn to ice. He desperately wished that he was a good enough actor to get through the next exchange without tipping is hand – a good Auror, and a good Gryffindor never let on how afraid they were. With luck, he could pull it off with aplomb and he'd be able to persuade her to stay behind. Or offend her to such a degree she'd storm off and miss the Portkey.

He gave her a mildly patronizing glance. "You don't think you're coming with us, do you?"

"Well, of course I am!" she snapped indignantly, getting up. "I'll have you know I've worked just as hard as you did on this case – "

"There's no need for you to come with us. My Aurors are sufficiently trained in combat to arrest McMermow – something _you_ are not. You would only get in the way, and get yourself killed. We'll send for you after he's in custody."

Dorea let out an outraged gasp.

With an annoyed grunt, Charlus whirled around and made his way down to the other end of the hall, where his team was preparing for the arrest.

Furious, Dorea ran after him as fast as she could, being impeded by her fancy shoes and slinky robes she'd decided to don this morning in a regretted pique of vanity. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself on this mission, as you well know, Potter!"

"This isn't up for discussion."

"Excuse me? It bloody well is! I'll have you know I'll be first on the scene – I have to be."

At that, Charlus whirled around, giving her a glacial glare. "I highly doubt that, Ms. Black. We will be fine – without you."

Now irate, Dorea stepped in front of her partner, preventing him from leaving when he made to go once more.

"Let me remind you why I am your _partner_ on his case – McMermow has been conducting _highly_ illegal and dangerous research that could potentially obliterate you and your squad of Aurors the second you step foot on the property. While you may be equipped to deal with whatever this wizard throws at you, only I am qualified to identify and disarm any perilous magical artifacts he may have developed or created." As her voice rose during her diatribe, the room got progressively quieter, eyes turning towards the normally sweet tempered Dorea as she upbraided the impressive Charlus Potter in public. "So while I appreciate the knight in shining armor act, at this point, I'll have you know that I'm no damsel in distress and I will not have your death on my head." She straightened, and took a deep breath. "Now. When do we leave?"

Charlus's lips were paper thin and white – it was obvious that every fiber of his being rejected her words, and yet he only managed a curt nod. "Soon." As much as he wished to hell and high water she wouldn't go, her words rang true. There was no getting around it, damn her. He should have known better. She was a Black, after all.

In a matter of minutes, the team of seven Aurors, lead by Dorea and Charlus, were approaching McMermow's backup home, an unimpressive shack in the middle of a forest. After Dorea skillfully disabled any wards around the house, the team made to move out to the home.

Before Dorea went, Charlus grabbed her arm, and murmured to her, low enough so no one could hear, "Don't die." With that, he melted away in the trees.

Silently, the nine men and women started making their way to the shack.

Dorea sidled up to a window, and after making sure no nasty surprises would greet her, she lifted the window open with her wand, before climbing into the house noiselessly. Inside, she saw Margaret Bones, crouching beneath an open window, and Charlus Potter, scanning the first floor for anyone's presence.

Dorea inspected the insides quickly, before nodding to Charlus. The first floor was all clear.

It was highly unusual that she be part of the first team of Aurors to break in, but she was the only person there sufficiently trained to spot and neutralize any nasty surprises McMermow could have concocted in the shack. She crept to the staircase, and cautiously looked up.

Unfortunately for her, McMermow chose that particular moment to go down for a cup of tea, only to be greeted by the sight of a strange woman with an insignia on her robes. The Ministry!

Dorea looked up at McMermow, frozen. According to all reports, the man should have been in his room – had he moved, they would have been informed by the lookouts –

With a hiss, McMermow threw his empty teacup down the stairs. Panicked, Dorea countered it with a flick of her wand, just in time to see McMermow pull a glowing orb out of his pocket and lob it at her – she wouldn't have enough time to counter it –

What felt like a solid brick wall slammed into her, projecting her away from the stairs. She crashed to the floor, a body covering hers as a blinding flash erupted before her eyes. Arms tightened around her as she strove to block out the pigments that were dancing in front of her pupils.

Charlus Potter got to his knees, one hand clutching his wand, the other his partner. Dorea wrapped her arm around his waist, letting him pull her up to a sitting position as she too pointed her wand at the staircase.

Dorea glanced at the foot of the stairs, where she had been but seconds ago. The space was covered in pulsing goo, still glowing brightly despite having already detonated. It seemed…

It was risky. If she miscalculated, or had misjudged the wizard's research, they'd all die a particularly painful death. However, there was nothing to it, McMermow was upstairs, already rifling his workshop for more homemade weapons. It was now or never…

With a grunt, Dorea threw her weight against Charlus as he made to get up, unbalancing him. Taken by surprise, he toppled back, landing on his back with a wince – right in the line of fire.

Dorea looked up, now on top of Charlus, and took aim. There he was – McMermow – clutching another handful of the sickly material. With deadly accuracy, Dorea shouted, "Avis!" With a bang, a flock of birds erupted from her wand and went straight to his hand – with sharp talons, the first canary tore into the golden ball, rupturing the surface tension of the liquid. It fell apart in the wizard's hands – with a screech, the birds scattered away – Dorea ducked her head down to Charlus' shoulder, who grabbed her and rolled her away when a blinding explosion tore throughout the house – something hot and wet splattered on her hands –

Silence rang deafeningly once the explosion died out. Suddenly, there was a cacophony of sound, Aurors screaming orders, yelling for backup, spells being cast, men and women apparating with pops as they began swarming over the house.

With a groan, Charlus sat up, hauling Dorea to her knees as well.

They looked at each other, exhausted. They were interrupted by a flock of yellow birds descending upon them, perching on Dorea's hands, shoulders and head. Dorea nuzzled a bird tenderly, the one with a few scorched feathers.

"What just happened?" asked Charlus, dumbfounded.

Dorea kept petting the canary, trying to keep her hands from trembling. "That's what he was creating – that liquid, a substance that could penetrate any magical shield and blow up anything living it came in contact with. It's not dangerous when it's still in its initial stage – when it's in that ball form that he was holding. But if something were to disturb that first state, it would break apart the bonds formed by the magic and make that liquid volatile to anything it touched. That's what I did with the canaries." She kissed the bird tenderly.

Charlus blinked at the chirping animal. "How come it didn't, er, explode?"

Dorea glanced at him. "When it ripped into that ball? See, magic has no power over life or death. We can't resurrect the dead, so obviously, we can't create life either. Meaning, when you transfigure a cat from a chair or conjure birds, they're living, but they aren't, well, alive, per say. The difference is almost impossible to detect, but it's there. They are magic made. That liquid McMermow is developing explodes when it comes into contact with living objects. _They_ aren't living, but McMermow is. Was."

Charlus nodded, skeptically glancing at the birds, which were tweeting happily, acting, well, like normal birds. Dorea shook her head. "Don't ask for more details. It's Unspeakables' research, you know."

Charlus nodded tiredly, before glancing up at the top of the stairs. Three Aurors were already conferring around what was left of Andros McMermow.

Dorea glanced at her hands, only to find them stained with drops of blood. She took a deep, trembling breath, and made to look up.

"No," said Charlus quietly. He put his arm around her shoulder and ducked his head, effectively blocking the sight. "There's no need for you to see that."

"I did this to him."

"No, he did this to himself."

Charlus helped her to her feet. With a start, he noticed some yellow goo on her robes. It was smeared all over the floor – he realized that they'd just been lying in it.

Dorea shook her head. "Its destructive powers fade in a matter of seconds after coming into contact with physical objects. He was trying to make it last longer… I guess he never will now."

"Good."

Charlus looked at her, his arm still around her. She looked back, her eyes round, slightly glazed, looking to him for… what? Guidance? Answers? He opened his mouth -

"Miss Black! We need to talk to you about what just happened."

Dorea turned around as she took a deep breath. She nodded regally, as composed as he had ever seen her. As if she were in the office for just another workday. As if she hadn't just killed a man.

"Of course. I'll be right over. I trust the scene has been secured?"

The tiny witch nodded vigorously, appearing awed by the imposing witch.

"Yes, ma'am. A team of Unspeakables have already begun cataloguing Wizard McMermow's belongings."

"Good. Let's make this quick, shall we? Mustn't keep them waiting."

"Of course, ma'am."

Charlus let his arm fall. Guidance? Answers? No, Miss Dorea Black, could do very well on her own. She had no need for anyone to tell her what to do, or how to deal. She was more than capable of standing on her own two feet.

"Ouch!"

"Miss Black, are you alright?"

"I'm fine – I'm fine… I just tripped… Terribly clumsy…"

Charlus sighed with a grin as he scrubbed his hair with his right hand. Well, maybe nix the 'standing on her own two feet' line. Dorea might be a first rate witch, the best of her year, but Merlin knew she had as much balance as a mooncalf on stilts.

It was a few more days before the investigation was completely wrapped up. Reports had to be written, testimonies given, evidence examined. During that time, they were meticulous in their work, taking their time to carefully wrap their case up. Without anyone left to prosecute, it was easier to do, and yet more complicated. Some questions would remain unanswered, but that was simply the price to pay.

After all was said and done, their separate reports done, the paperwork signed, and the case closed, he went back to his respective department and she went back to hers. Thankfully, the Auror who'd been assigned the case he'd passed over for the McMermow case hadn't managed to make any arrests or make much headway, so Charlus got back his old investigation on the Lange-Criens file without much fuss.

Dorea took over the charge of quantifying and classifying McMermow's research, and when that was done, she went on to study a much more powerful and mysterious force: love.

Two weeks had passed before Charlus finally dragged himself over to Dorea's table where she sat for lunch. His heart beating wildly, he leaned against the wall, and casually – smooth as ever, naturally – asked, "How about a tea later?"

She smiled up at him, batting her eyelashes. "I'm something can be arranged." The retort would have been flawless, if it hadn't been for her eternal clumsiness. With a wave of her hand, she knocked over her canteen of mint tea and her piece of toast. The mint tea splashed everywhere on the bench, the floor, the table. The piece of bread fell to the ground, butter side up. With a muffled curse, Dorea groped for her wand. Charlus sat down next to her in the puddle of tea. When Dorea looked up to protest, he swiftly pressed his lips against hers, effectively stifling her words.

It was hot, and sweet, and a little rough. Dorea regained enough of her wits to murmur, "The tea…"

He whispered back against her lips, "Forget the tea."

She did.

**A/N: SOOOOO MY LOVELIES???? What say you? I know it's not like UBER romantic, but I really did my best. I considered stopping right after he asks her out for tea, but I thought ya'll deserved at least a kiss. So? Good? Bad? Too long? Too short? Let me know, so I can improve! I'll be back to a Flower's Fame soon, so please forgive the lateness! Special thanks to Sashikins, without whom this piece would still be loitering on my desktop, gathering electronic dust – arigato gosaimaste!**


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